The Catalyst
by lorien829
Summary: A little girl of mysterious origins will become the driving force that will change the very nature of Harry and Hermione's relationship with each other. Moves from canon, disregards epilogue.
1. Prologue

**The Catalyst**

**Cat-a-lyst (n): **_1.__ a substance that enables a chemical reaction to proceed at a usually faster rate or under different conditions (as at a lower temperature) than otherwise possible. __2.__ an agent that provokes or spee__ds significant change or action. - Merriam Webster_

**Prologue:**

_The undulating wail of an alarm startled her from her sleep, but she did not cry out as most children would. Blinking curiously toward the tiny window near the top of the door, she watched light and shadow flicker in an uneven pattern, like the flash of far-off lightning. She sat up on her little cot, and swung her socked feet toward the cool concrete floor._

_More commotion. Now there was the thunder of running feet, shouts of – confrontation? fear? warning? She could not tell, but perhaps she should put on her shoes. She bent to retrieve the small white trainers, and quietly put them on. The noise outside her door continued on unabated, but nobody stopped and came in._

_She was glad of that. Sometimes when they did come in, the needles hurt, even when they spoke in kind voices. And sometimes, when she got the answers wrong, their voices became hard and angry. Maybe they were moving again; it had happened a time or two before, always in the middle of the night, with much bustling and scurrying about._

_There was a sharp noise, followed by a low rumble that shook the entire place they were keeping her. The metal frame of her cot rattled loudly against the stone walls. More rapid footfalls, a terrified scream abruptly cut off. And then, a low, but distinct command:_

"_Check the cells."_

_She tried not to react, but could not help lowering her head toward her chest in disappointment. They were coming after all… but maybe just to move her. She supposed it would be too much to hope that they would forget about her, and accidentally leave her behind. She swung her legs and smacked the heels of her shoes together, rhythmlessly, and twirled one of her chestnut braids around her finger. She waited, as the rattling of door handles and the creaking of unoiled hinges grew louder and closer. Each time, the door to an empty cell slammed shut with an echoing clang. The chaos had ebbed; she could still hear the clash, but it was farther away. Was she the only one left in here?_

_Then, a shadow crossed the small, square window, a face, cloaked and indistinguishable. She could see a glint of a gaze; it met hers briefly._

The agent's name is Falworth_, she thought matter-of-factly._

_There was an inarticulate cry that followed the shaking of the locked door. Falworth must have tried Alohamora, for the door quivered briefly like gelatin, but remained unyielding. The shadowy face peered through the window again. When he turned, his cloak fell back; he was young, with honey-colored hair and a strong profile._

Falworth has been married for six months. His wife's name is Regina. He probably won't get to see her until morning.

_Others must have joined him. She could hear voices, muffled but audible. They were trying to open her door. They wanted to get her out… to get her away. For the first time, she regarded the little glass square with something like interest sparking in her green eyes._

_These _weren't _any of the needle people. Perhaps they were going to let her out of here. Maybe they would take her to the zoo. Cautiously she stood, and trod softly to the door. She folded her hands neatly in front of her, and waited patiently._

_The young man attempting to open her door peered in again, and did a double take, when he saw her standing so closely._

"_Get back!" he told her, his voice muffled as if heard from a great distance. His hand lifted for the accompanying gesture. "We'll have you out of there in just a moment, little one. Move away from the door."_

Regina had long brown hair that he thought was very pretty. He thought maybe when they had a daughter, she might look like me.

_Obediently, she stepped backward, three precise steps, until she could feel the metal rim of the cot pressing into the backs of her legs._

_A low rumble began and gradually built into a roar, and the door flew open with so much force that it hit the wall behind it and trembled on its hinges. Now Falworth was accompanied by another cloaked man; they stepped inside, little spirals of smoke still twirling up from the tips of their wands._

The other agent's name is Dunwiddie.

"_Hi there, darling. I'm Auror Falworth, and this is Auror Dunwiddie. He's my partner. Can you come with us please?" He held out his hand to her._

_She turned anxious eyes to the open doorway. She was never supposed to be out in the corridor without one of the needle people. It was why they always locked it up tight. To keep her safe, they said, but she didn't believe them._

He knows why I am scared. It makes him angry. But not at me.

"_I promise it's all right. The people who did this to you, they're going to go to prison. For a very long time. They cannot hurt you anymore."_

_She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself to jump, and reached up to wrap her small fingers around Falworth's hand._

"_There's a girl," he said, reassuringly. He smiled down at her._

He would never hurt me. He thinks I'm a poor brave little girl.

"_Can you tell us your name, love?"_

"_My name is Eleanor."_

"_And your last name? The names of your parents?" She blinked up at him, confused._

He doesn't understand why I don't understand.

"_Eleanor is my only name. I don't have any parents."_

_She felt the two men exchange glances over her head. They asked her more questions, about her birthday, how old she was, the names of any people who were close to her. She didn't know any of the answers. Were they going to punish her?_

_Falworth saw her fright. His eyes were kind._

"_It's okay, Eleanor. You've done well. We're going to take you to some people who will help you. We need to find your family."_

_Family? There was no family. There were only the needle people, and their prodding and questions, and their bland, expressionless faces behind the medical masks. She looked frantically back toward her cell, although she didn't know why. Hadn't she wanted to leave this dreadful place?_

_Auror Falworth misunderstood her glance._

"_Do you need your things? Any toys… dolls, books? Extra clothes?" He appeared ready to double back toward the door. She tugged on his hand, shaking her head._

"_I don't have any things. There isn't anything in there, except my bed and the table, and… the commode."_

He's angry again. But still not at me.

"_What are bastards?"_

_Falworth grew very still. So still that Dunwiddie asked him if he was all right._

"_How did –?" But he didn't finish his sentence. He squeezed her hand, and tried to force his face into a smile._

"_Come on, love. We're going to take you to some people who will help you."_

"_Where are we going?" she asked, but his answer had no meaning for her._

"_St. Mungo's."_

**TBC**


	2. Horizon Shadowed

**The Catalyst**

**Chapter One: Horizon Shadowed**

Scattered shoppers from all points of sunlit Diagon Alley turned to look at the source of the hearty laughter ringing from one of the tables on the flagstones outside of Florean Fortescue's. Many stores had been refurbished since the end of the War, and, even five years later, the striped canopies, the gleaming storefronts, the bright windows still held a charming, cheerful newness. There had been a period of caution, but Wizarding society had surged back, as if in defiance of the fear and oppression so recently vanquished, and this better-than-ever Alley was only the most visible part of the result.

Even more gratifying was that the laughter emanated from the Boy Who Lived himself: head thrown back, mouth open, eyes shut. He leaned weakly against the back of the chair, as he subsided, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes, amid the snickers and snorts from the companions at the table with him. His hand was intertwined with that of a very pretty girl, whose face, crimson with mortification, clashed with her vivid hair. Chagrined, she lowered her forehead to the curled fingers of her free hand, and shook her head. A ginger-haired young man, obviously related to the girl, leaned over to make another remark that threatened to set Harry off again. The girl snatched her hand out of his, in mock anger, but his eyes softened as he took her hand back, murmured something nobody else could catch, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

Harry knew that they likely had the eyes of many passers-by, and as much as he normally loathed the lavish attention, he couldn't make himself care much today. The day itself was beautiful, he was in company with his best and closest friends in all the world, he had a good job he enjoyed, working as a flight engineer for prototype brooms, Voldemort was dead, the Death Eaters were all but defunct, and the lovely girl beside him was in love with him. And he was eating caramel ice cream. His mood was easily broadcasting itself to all who saw him.

"Easy there, Harry!" Ron told him good-naturedly, noisily slurping the dregs of his milkshake through his straw. "You look like you might just take flight right now, even without that new Proton-whatsit broom."

"It's a Photon A-220," Harry corrected him, even though he knew Ron knew exactly what the new broom was called. "And I don't believe I'll do any sort of flying right now, broomless or otherwise, if it meant leaving this one behind." He brought Ginny's hand up to his lips again.

There was a chorus of groans around the table.

"Harry, don't make me regret this lovely shake I've just had." Ron pretended to shudder in horror.

"At least _he_ tries!" Hermione spoke up, but the sparkle in her brown eyes belied her miffed tone. Ron mimed taking a hex to the heart.

"If I kissed your hand, I might bloody my lip on that rock I just bought you," he pointed out. Hermione exchanged a glance of fond amusement with Harry. Ron was inordinately proud of the engagement ring he'd presented to Hermione, only one week earlier. She couldn't help but be touched by how hard he'd worked to afford such a luxury item on the piddling salary offered him by the Auror Corps. At the same time though, she and Harry joked that they were going to start a drinking game: a shot every time Ron mentioned the ring.

She thumbed the solitaire lightly, watching the sunlight splinter into a thousand facets as it collided with the stone.

"I'm surprised she can perform the first procedure," Harry put in, breaking into her reverie, with a cheery wink. "Can you even lift it on rounds? A Healer with a game hand isn't much good, is she?"

"_Resident_ Healer," Ron put in, and Hermione threw him an arch look.

"Oh, such accuracy from the Auror _Trainee._"

"Believe me, I'm well aware of your status. Especially since you said you wouldn't marry me until _after_ you completed that bloody residency."

"Ron, what on earth is the rush? I just turned twenty-three. It makes perfect sense to wait until we've both finished our training courses, and are working full-time."

"Until we've _both_ finished? Now you're adding conditions! It's another year and a half until I'm done. Tell me the truth – you don't really want to marry me, do you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and dropped her spoon into her empty saucer with a clink.

"Ron, don't be ridiculous."

"Well, _there's _a ringing endorsement!"

"Tell me how in the world wanting to marry you at the right time translates into not wanting to marry you at all?!"

Harry and Ginny exchanged long-suffering glances. While many things had changed since the end of the War, some things had not, and Ron and Hermione's rows were one of them. He had trouble understanding why Ron insisted on winding her up, or why Hermione let Ron do it for that matter, but he had come to assume that it was some kind of bizarre courtship ritual. He had lost count of the number of times he'd thought to himself, _Don't say it, Ron, don't say it, just shut up and … _But Ron invariably said the thing he shouldn't have said, being completely unaware of Harry's mental advice on the matter.

"Shouldn't most girls be so head over heels with their blokes that they can't wait to marry them and set up house?" Harry reflected that he was occasionally in awe of Ron's Seeker-like ability to say _exactly _the phrase that would irritate his best friend the most. Hermione's cringe was visible and obvious in reaction to the words "set up house". She fixated Ron with the most withering glare in her considerable arsenal.

"We could just leave," Ginny muttered out of the side of her mouth. Harry shook his head in response.

"Nah, it's going to be over soon. Watch. Hermione's going to get up."

"_When_ have I ever been 'most girls', Ronald Weasley? If you want 'most girls', there's always Lavender Brown."

Wisely, Ron chose not to respond to that particular barb. "I'm glad you're not 'most girls', Hermione, but a bloke'd like to be appreciated every once in a while, and you – "

"_I told you 'yes'! _I accepted your ring! I love you, Ronald Weasley. Why isn't that enough for you?" Hermione's voice had risen to a sort of hissed screech, if there was such a thing, and she grabbed her satchel with a huff, and stood to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Ron protested.

"I don't want to be late for afternoon shift." Her answer was laced with venom, as though he had called her a rude name instead of asked her a question.

"I'll walk you out," Harry offered casually, standing up and arching his back to stretch it. "I've got to drop a set of schematics off for Gareth, before I go back out to Clampshaven."

"More testing?" Ginny asked.

"They want to roll out the new line before Christmas," he replied, and stooped to brush her mouth with a kiss. "See you tonight?"

"Sure," she nodded. "Bye, Hermione."

"Later, Gin," Hermione replied, amiably enough, although her voice still held traces of her annoyance with her fiancé. They had proceeded about half the distance back toward the Leaky Cauldron, before Hermione sighed, "I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head, dashing a fringe of hair out of his eyes, and dismissed the apology. "You didn't do anything."

"We're always rowing in front of you. I'm sure it gets old."

He lifted one shoulder noncommittally. "Reckon I'm used to it by now."

"I'm not," she said, in such a low voice that Harry barely heard her.

"What?"

"I – I don't _like _fighting with him all the time. I mean, I'd – I'd like it, if he weren't my fiancé. Sometimes it's fun watching him get all red-faced and apoplectic, but… " She tossed her hair, searching for the right words. "He needs so much … propping up, so much constant reassurance. It comes off feeling like he thinks I'm a pathological liar, and doesn't believe a word I say."

"Ron's always been a little – " Harry began his automatic that's-just-Ron defense, but she cut him off.

"Do you think I'm settling?"

Her sudden question made Harry misstep, and he staggered over a couple of cobblestones before he could be entirely sure that he wasn't going to fall down. He thought he heard someone snicker from the doorway of an adjacent shop.

"Wh – what?"

"Settling for Ron? You know, because he's there and he asked me? It's so convenient too – you and Ginny, me and Ron." She saw Harry's startled and panicked expression, and read it immediately. "Harry, I love Ron. You know I do." She leaned toward him to knock his elbow with hers. "The good times are really, _really _good. But the bad times are kind of… tiresome."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. Hermione looked up into his flummoxed eyes, and laughed.

"Oh, don't look so nauseated, Harry. I'm not asking you to take sides, or even telling you there's an irreparable problem. I just needed to … vent a little."

The relief that flooded her best friend's features really was comical, she reflected. He pulled her to his side in a comradely, one-armed hug, as they arrived at the brick entrance to the Cauldron.

"You know I'll be your sounding board anytime, Hermione." He kissed her cheek, and then patted his pockets, checking for the shrunken blueprints. "Talk to you later." He winked at her, and then Apparated away.

Hermione was there for just a moment longer, tucking her wand in her pocket, and thumbing her satchel more securely onto her shoulder. She concentrated on the employee's entrance at St. Mungo's, and with a small crack, reappeared in a lounge-like area with several banks of lockers on one wall. Another door led some sleeping quarters for healers on-call or working extra shifts due to emergency. It was very quiet, and Hermione was thankful yet again for the charms that kept the bustle of the hospital out of this small haven.

She lifted the strap of her satchel over her head, and walked over to her locker, a small one in the darkest corner, due to her relatively low status in the St. Mungo's pecking order.

"Ms. Granger?" Her neck jerked her head to the side, her chin up and eyes wide with surprise, but not alarm. An Auror stood there, still in his work robes, two file folders under one arm. He was her senior by perhaps ten years, and had a craggy, determined face that recalled stolid trustworthiness.

"Yes?"

"I'm Auror Guinnein Dunwiddie, and I – " He seemed almost at a loss as to what to say next, and he started to heedlessly crease the folders in his hands.

"Is something wrong?" Now alarm did flare up in her eyes. Ron? Harry? She'd just left them. Her parents? Maybe they'd been looking for her while she'd been whiling away the time with her friends.

"No, well – that is, there's something we need to discuss. Will you please come with me?"

**TBC**


	3. Euphoria Broken

**The Catalyst**

**Chapter Two: Euphoria Broken**

Wariness replaced the alarm, as Hermione eyed the Auror in a measured fashion.

"May I see your credentials?"

He murmured a spell, and a smoky rendition of an Auror ID constructed itself in the middle of the Healer's lounge. He seemed to appreciate her care, but think it unnecessary at the same time.

"We're not leaving the hospital. The… person you need to see is just down the corridor."

"All right," Hermione's voice was tempered with caution. She had heard the studied pause before he said 'person', and she had no idea what he could be on about. Her residency had gone well; she would have stood out as the brightest, even if people hadn't known who she was. But she certainly wasn't an expert in a given field, and certainly couldn't give a better exam or a more learned opinion than Chief Healers who been practicing for years.

He held the door for her, as they exited the lounge area, and led her down a rabbit warren of corridors, until they were deep within the administrative wing of the facility. Just as her concern was about to cross over into utter bewilderment, he opened a final door that led them into a plush conference room. It was tucked so far out of the way, she wondered if it ever got used at all. Sitting at the oval table was another Auror, one only slightly older than she was, with a corona of blond hair that made him look even younger.

He stood to his feet as she entered, and extended his hand for her to shake.

"Healer Granger," he said by way of greeting. "I am Stuart Falworth, Auror Dunwiddie's partner."

"It's nice to meet you. May I ask what all this is regarding?"

Glances passed between the two men, and a door in the back that she had not heretofore noticed opened. Three people walked into the room, and took seats. Two of them were Chief Healers and department heads, and one was a kind of Wizarding equivalent of a Muggle social worker.

Hermione began to feel somewhat cornered.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"Assuredly not, Healer Granger," Falworth said. "An Auror squadron recently ran a raid on a magical facility just outside of Nottingham. We received a tip that there had been some … well, some rather unsavory magical research going on there, magic that involved… wizards and witches as the subjects."

"They were experimenting on people?" Hermione's voice sounded properly horrified, but Falworth knew she was still trying to gauge what she could have to do with any of this.

"Yes. When we got there, however, there was no evidence that anything untoward had been going on. Except for the girl."

"Girl?" Hermione prodded him. He seemed to be waiting for her to come to some kind of conclusion.

"Yes, a little girl. Not more than four or five years old, I should think. She called herself Eleanor, claimed to have no last name, no parents. Had no idea how old she was."

"That's terrible! Poor thing. I'm assuming you've done the _Origo_ spell?" She asked about a spell that was somewhat similar to a Muggle DNA test.

"Yes, we have." Again, the Auror seemed to be waiting on her, for reasons that Hermione could not fathom.

"Healer Granger, did you give a baby up for adoption approximately 5 years ago?" The social worker – Hermione recognized her vaguely – finally piped up and asked.

"I most certainly did not! Is _that_ what this is regarding?" She sputtered a kind of angry half-laugh. "It's absolutely preposterous! Clearly, your spell was faulty."

"Healer Granger," rumbled the low voice of Almeric Dudgeon, one of the most eminent healers at St. Mungo's. "The _Origo_ was performed precisely the way it should be – more than once. There can be no question. The girl is yours."

"And I am telling you that it simply is not possible. I have – I have never been pregnant, and I have never given birth."

"We assure you that this can be handled with the utmost discretion. Someone of your status must naturally take greater care that…"

"Someone of my 'status'?" Hermione bristled. "And what exactly are you implying?" Only Hermione Granger could have made the Chief Healer over the Spell Damage ward, a venerable wizard who had seen at least eight decades go by, squirm in his chair.

"Nothing untoward, Healer Granger." Dudgeon interceded for his colleague, his voice sounding like a metal shovel scraped over gravel. Hermione could only assume he was attempting to be soothing. "However, given the fame of some of your… associates… as well as your own notoriety, we only want to offer our assurances that this will be handled in as quiet a manner as you could wish."

Hermione's brown eyes flashed fire, sweeping irately over those arrayed in front of her. Harry and Ron would have known the danger inherent in that disdainful gaze.

"Healer Dudgeon," she began, contempt dripping over her words like syrup, "I am not concealing anything out of shame or guilt or fear that something untoward will come to light. I am telling you the simple and unvarnished truth. I have never had a baby. Ever. The _Origo_ has to be incorrect - that's all there is to it. Bring Healer Glauerhaven down from Obstetrics, if you like. I'm certain her spellwork would corroborate my claim."

Healer Dudgeon exchanged glances with his colleague, Healer Englebert Wilberforce. The two Aurors were flipping through the files, as if hoping to find some evidence of her veracity within. Hermione wondered why they were so convinced that she was lying - and that unquenchable clinical side of her was pondering how an _Origo_ could be so miscast. It was a fairly complicated medical spell, but one taught in the first year of training. The silence grew oppressive, and the social worker's chair squeaked as she swiveled it in fidgety nervousness.

"Healer Granger," Auror Falworth began, after what seemed like an interminable period of time. His voice was gentle, and his eyes were kind, warm with a lively compassion that seemed engineered to engender trust. "It is not my intent to disparage your word, but - are you _absolutely_ sure that you have never been pregnant, never carried a child to term, never given a blood-born child up for adoption?"

"Auror Falworth," she spoke to him in like vein, facing him squarely, imploring him to believe her. "I will be glad to undertake a Wizard's Oath. I have never had a baby."

"You've never had any sort of physical relationship with Harry Potter?"

"Ex_cuse_ me?" The deceptively quiet question caught Hermione completely off-guard. She jerked her gaze up to the Auror so abruptly that it hurt. Bewilderment quickly gave way to indignation, then anger. It made her struggle to stay coherent. "What kind of tawdry - I am engaged to Ron Weasley. You may have seen the notice last week in the _Prophet._"

Falworth looked at her blandly, though Hermione could discern a glimmer of sympathy, before he pointed out the obvious.

"You haven't answered my question, Ms. Granger."

"The question is so ridiculous, it is hardly worthy of an answer! I am engaged to Harry's best friend. Harry is seeing Ron's sister. Neither Harry nor I have ever even _thought _of each other in such a context. And really, I fail to see why - " She stopped suddenly, and hurled an accusing glance back to Auror Falworth and his file. " - why you suddenly brought up Harry?" She phrased the end of her sentence as a stand-alone question, and waited, although she knew the answer before Falworth gave it.

"Harry Potter is Eleanor's father."

Hermione puffed a sardonic _s__s__shtt_ of air between her teeth.

"I couldn't be more convinced that the fault lies with the _Origo_ spell. Owl Harry and have him come in. Go on then. He'll tell you - he'll tell you the same thing I've told you." Hermione's eyes were almost triumphant now; it was apparent to everyone in the room that she was either telling the truth - or had convinced herself that she was.

"Healer Granger," Wilberforce spoke deliberatively, pulling at his long silver goatee, and twirling the end of it thoughtfully around his fingers. "The _Origo _was performed three different times, by three different Healers, including Healer Dudgeon and myself. The results were the same each time, ruling out spellcaster error. Unless you are suggesting that the fault lies within the little girl herself, that she somehow has the capability of misleading a wand, then… " He spread his hands, as if presenting an array of facts before them. "There was no ambiguity, no cloudy answer open to varying interpretations. You are welcome to review the findings yourself - or even cast your own _Origo_, if you'd like…"

Hermione nodded automatically and with a distinct air of distraction. She vaguely realized that she was still standing, and sank into the chair behind her, without really seeming to notice its presence. A snap of Dudgeon's fingers Summoned the paperwork from wherever it had been stored, and he gestured for it to slide in front of Hermione. She flipped through the pages mechanically, noting various details with one corner of her mind, but her concentration was turned inward, working furiously to determine how the impossible had, in fact, occurred.

The other occupants of the room did not have to wait long.

"You - you said - " Hermione began slowly, her mind racing ahead of her mouth's ability to articulate. Falworth arched his brows in an invitation for her to continue. "The - the facility - where you found the girl…" _Eleanor_, part of her whispered. "You said there were experiments being conducted - were there - was it only magical in nature, or were there - were there Muggle elements as well?"

She felt as if time had slowed down, as if her heart had become a force of its own, doggedly pounding a sludge of blood past her ears. Unknowingly her fingers curled in tension on the table, but the pressure of her nails did no damage to the lacquered surface. She absent-mindedly dog-eared the corner of the file with one thumb.

Falworth and Dunwiddie consulted the file.

"There was a wide array of potion ingredients that we were unfamiliar with. They appeared to be intended for administration by … injection." Dunwiddie shuddered slightly, his distaste at Muggle barbarism clear. "There were some strange diagrams as well. We've got Unspeakables with the most intensive Muggle training looking at them. Something like this?"

He slid another folder over to her, tapping a couple of small sketched examples. They were clearly drawings depicting molecular structure, as well as the double helices of human DNA.

"Oh my God," Hermione murmured, her voice a barely audible gasp of shock. Her pulse roared in her ears, and she closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

"Healer Granger, are you quite all right?"

_No, I'm not all right_, she wanted to vehemently shout. _The violation - can you even imagine - __how dare -__Harry and I - we were …__oh my God, we were__ harvested - without our consent, and they - whoever the hell it was - they made a person… out of _us. _And Ron - and - and Ginny - they - they'll…_ Her mind shied away from the topic. It was too much, too soon - she couldn't make herself approach it. _How? _and _Why? _perhaps had more concrete, more immediate answers. She let those questions crowd out _What will we do about it now? _and _What will people say?_

"Al - almost six years ago, after the - after the last battle w-with Voldemort… Harry and I - and Ron - we were all in St. Mungo's for a bit. It could have - " She reopened her eyes, and they were wide and unseeing with shock. "It could have been anyone, could have happened at any time. While we were sedated… a Stunner while we were sleeping, a Confunded mediwitch… _Imperio…_"

"Y - you're saying that someone - _they _- took parts of you and Mr. Potter, and created a baby without your knowledge or consent," Falworth looked utterly flabbergasted. Hermione knew that Muggle infertility treatments would be foreign to a large majority of the Wizarding populace.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. A gestational carrier - another woman - would have carried the baby to term. It's the only possibility." She speared him with a quick look, as if daring any of them to call her a liar again. "Whoever instigated this had knowledge of Muggle science, perhaps was working with Muggles - or was Muggle-Born themselves."

Stuart Falworth's eyes were moving furiously across the files. Hermione recognized the look of someone desperately trying to put things into some kind of sensible order. Finally, in frustration, he tossed the file back to the smoothly varnished tabletop, so that parchment fanned out in all directions.

"To what end?" He asked her helplessly.

Her forehead crinkled over troubled dark eyes.

"I don't know."

**TBC**


	4. Perspective Skewed

**The Catalyst**

Chapter Three: Perspective Skewed

Hermione's feet made no noise on the plush Oriental rug, sinking into the luxurious nap, as she crossed the office of Almeric Dudgeon to stand before the fireplace. Everything seemed surreal now; she marveled at the bustle of the corridors of St. Mungo's, as she had moved from the hidden conference room to the executive offices immediately above. Patients were still being admitted; healers were treating spell damage, mediwitches were dosing potions, and orderlies were using Sterilizing Charms on the equipment. _She_ was supposed to be on duty, but now she was borrowing the Chief Healer's Floo to contact Harry about a child that neither of them had known they had.

How could everything look so normal, when everything _felt_ so different?

Someone had taken something from her - while she had recovered in this very facility, a patient, injured… one of these friendly, calming faces? One of these who had sworn to first do no harm? Her stomach bucked and roiled, threatening to eject the lovely lunch she'd had with her very best friends. She recalled the heat of the sunshine as it coated her hair and shoulders, which brought to mind Ron's annoying and yet endearingly familiar assumptions, and the sound of Harry's laughter…

… and now - here in this very hospital - there was a little girl, who was part her and part Harry.

She knelt on the shiny marble hearth, bracing herself against the gleaming gold trim and taking a moment to collect herself before tossing in a handful of Floo Powder.

"Brigadoon Broom Design."

"Fly the Future on Brigadoon Brooms," came a musical Scottish brogue, the motto coming in the casually rushed way of something that was said often. A merry round face, fronted by an enormous walrus mustache that all but obscured his mouth appeared in the flames. The disconnected voice became much livelier when he saw her. "Hermione! Always good to see ye. But I'm afraid Harry's no' here. He's headed out to - "

"Clampshaven," Hermione finished for him. She shook her head in chagrin at her too-late remembrance. "You're right. He told us as much, but I'd forgotten."

"Be glad to leave him a message for ye."

"No, thank you. Brig, do you mind if I come through? I'll just Apparate on up to the testing field. This will be quicker than going all the way down to the St. Mungo's Point."

"Floo's always open for ye, Hermione. Nothin' wrong, I hope?" His voice withdrew as he stood, and she could see the edge of his worn leather apron, where it brushed the shins of his heavy work khakis.

"No," her voice echoed tinnily in her ears, as she whirled through the Network. She stepped into a large room that was part design studio and part carpentry workshop. Lamps hovered above parchment-topped drafting tables, and pieces of brooms were strewn about in the very definition of orderly chaos. Gareth, one of Brig's designers, was hunched over a table in the far corner. "Not at all, Brig. There's just an… important piece of information I need to pass on to him, that's all." But she couldn't quite meet the concerned gaze of Harry's boss, and she was sure that he had noticed it.

And _why_ did she feel compelled to march out to a broom speed-testing facility, interrupt Harry's work day, and tell him some news that would be thoroughly unexpected and almost certainly unwelcome? There wasn't anything Harry could do now, that he couldn't do this evening. Although, if the little girl was to be adopted quietly, without the news leaking from the notorious sieve that was St. Mungo's, then she and Harry needed to sign the paperwork sooner, rather than later.

But she knew that her excuse, while good, was still just that - an excuse. Her hand was trembling slightly, and she rested her fingertips against the edge of a table, hardly paying attention to what she touched. _I've got to find Harry because I'm about to fall apart, _she finally admitted inwardly. _He keeps me grounded, when I feel like I'm going to fly in all directions at once. I need him to tell me that everything's going to be all right._

Ron's initial reaction would be suspicion, she knew. Even if it lasted for only a split second, his knee-jerk response would be one of betrayal. The tricky part would be navigating through Ron's hair-trigger temper without anyone saying anything unforgivable. Throughout their rocky courtship, they had managed to perfect a kind of balancing act, a detente of sorts, knowing what buttons to avoid or push, what topics to broach or leave unspoken, precise ways of wording things that would not set the other one off. Hermione had not been joking when she had told Harry it was tiresome. _And now here comes something else to complicate things further_, she mused wearily. _Why does this have to be so hard? __It shouldn't be so hard, should it?_

"Ye like tha', eh?" Brig's voice broke into her thoughts. She looked up, startled, to see his ruddy face beaming, as he nodded toward the table nearest her. Her fingers were resting lightly on a broom handle that - Hermione's attention was truly snagged then - appeared to be a beautifully rich, swirling wood grain, but in fact, was not.

"It's - it's an alloy," she breathed in wonder, taking in the length of the broom, all the way to the tip of the smoothly sculpted straw, twigs perfectly aligned and twisted into a near point at the end. It looked sleek, aerodynamic, _fast_. Hermione was no broom expert, though she had absorbed more than she ever cared to through this job of Harry's, but even she could tell that _this_ broom was special, a work of art. "Brig, this is lovely."

Brig's grin grew wider.

"Harry'll be thrilled to hear ye say tha'." Hermione's eyes widened in astonishment.

"_Harry_ designed this?"

"Designed it an' built it. All his own work. Must say I was impressed."

"I - I didn't know he - he - " Hermione felt like her disbelief was doing Harry a disservice, but Harry was - well - _Harry._He was athletic, quick on his feet, with a natural reserve and good instincts about people; he had always seemed to harbor both a general dislike for structure, and a penchant for mischief. Since the end of the war, the front he had presented to people was a kind of casually guarded one. None of this appeared to lend itself to an artist's sensitive soul. She thought she knew Harry better than almost anyone else in the world, and she had never expected that he hid within himself a master craftsman.

"Still waters run deep in tha' `un, aye?" Brig's twinkling gray eyes seemed to read the exact path of her twisted thoughts.

"Undoubtedly." She let laughter color the edges of her voice, as she reluctantly lifted her hand from the broom shaft. What other talents did Harry have that he was, perhaps, only now able to express and experiment with? She wondered if their daughter would be as special as he was.

That thought was like a merciless net, gathering her scattered musings back together, refocusing her on her purpose. She took a deep breath, and then tried not to act so much like she was steeling herself for an unpleasant task, as she bid a cheery farewell to Brig. Nevertheless, she had the distinct impression that not much escaped the hearty Scot. His nod was almost sympathetic, as he met her eyes for a moment; his attention had returned to Harry's broom by the time she stepped into her turn.

Even the gentle crack of her Apparation echoed slightly off of the low, rolling hills that surrounded the Brigadoon test flight facility at Clampshaven. She, Ron, and Ginny were on Harry's authorized list, and she felt relieved that she would not have to go round the front and through security. She had joked that she was worried she was signing her life away, when she filled out the paperwork for the authorization.

"Corporate espionage is rampant. Have to keep everything hush-hush, you know," Harry had told her with a serious mien. The mirthful twinkle in his eyes had given him away, and she had swatted him upside his head with her newly signed document.

Hermione threaded her way through a thin screen of young trees, and onto the field itself. She squinted her eyes against the glare of the low afternoon sun, then finally shaded them with her hand, as she searched for Harry. He really had become more smiley, almost-but-not-quite approachable, as the war had become a more distant - though never forgotten - memory. His work was something he found fun and fulfilling, not merely an obligation or a means to an end. Ginny was lively and vivacious, nudging him out of his comfort zone and encouraging him to venture out into society and try new things. The burden he'd carried since he was eleven years old had been lightened, if not lifted, and though he still tried to become broody and guilt-ridden from time to time, he also seemed content to let Ginny, Ron, and Hermione distract him out of such episodes.

She had to admit that she liked this Harry. He was still media-shy and too impulsive, but he still had the noblest heart of anyone she knew, and unconstrained generosity to those he named friends.

_He's seemed so much lighter lately. And now I'm going to take that away from him._ She sighed, as she spotted him soar over a rise, head south, and then veer suddenly in her direction when he caught sight of her. There was movement on the field, and Hermione saw Harry's assistant began to head in her direction as well. Her shoulders sank and her eyes rolled skyward. She liked Morty just fine, but this was assuredly _not_ the kind of bomb you could drop in front of other people.

Harry made a graceful landing, scarcely a meter in front of her, and hopped off of the broom almost before it had fully stopped moving. His hair was wind-tossed, and his flight had whipped color into his face. His eyes were lively and welcoming.

"Hermione! What are - " Just that quickly, a shadow flickered over his expression, as though a cloud had darted in front of the sun. "What's wrong? Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone's fine, Harry. I needed to - I didn't intend to worry you, but - " She wrung her hands nervously, and noted that her palms were clammy. Her eyes flicked over to Morty as he approached, clipboard and quill in hand and a Muggle stopwatch around his neck. She looked back at Harry, but didn't speak again. She knew she wouldn't have to.

"That was some flight, Boss," Morty panted, slightly flushed from his trot across the green. His hair and clothing were in their perpetual disheveled state; he seemed to always look as if he had just been roused from sleep. He was at least a couple of years older than Harry, but insisted on referring to him as `boss'. Hermione privately thought that he did it solely for the purpose of irritating Harry. "It's getting great speed going straightaway, but there's 30% per cent slow down when it corners."

"That's no good," Harry commiserated. He took the clipboard from Morty, and scanned the first couple of pages, where Hermione could see detailed diagrams. He made a couple of quick jots with the quill. "Maybe there's something off with the shaft angle. Go on and write it up, and get the report back to Brig. I'll bring the broom, and be back shortly." There was clear, albeit polite, dismissal in his tone. Morty had opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it, and set off for the gap in the trees through which Hermione had just come. Hermione figured that he was going to get outside of the wards, and then Apparate round front, rather than cross the entire length of the testing field from the inside. A moment later, a crisp crack confirmed her hypothesis.

"All right then, Hermione," Harry said in his best don't-even-try-to-hide-anything-from-me voice. "What's going on?"


	5. Enigma Disclosed

**The Catalyst**

Chapter Four: Enigma Disclosed

Hermione scrubbed her damp palms down the sides of her Muggle blue jeans. _I didn't even get to change into my Resident's robes_, she realized detachedly, recalling the abrupt summons from Auror Dunwiddie - which seemed to have utterly upended her life.

"I - "

Any friendly playfulness that had remained had been leeched from Harry's face. His straight, dark brows had lowered in concern. He'd always been able to easily read her, and her agitation was making itself more than apparent.

"When I … when I got to work, there were - there were Aurors there, and they - they said they n-needed to speak to me, so - " She knew she was forestalling the inevitable by giving him the pointless backstory. Her hands were fluttering at her sides like caught Snitches. _Why am I so afraid to tell him? It isn't my fault; it isn't his fault. It was just an invasion - a violation - without consent, and a mad scientist of some sort has created our daughter. He'll be shocked, I'm sure, but he'll - then he'll - _Rather suddenly, Hermione realized what made her so anxious. She _thought_ that Harry would act with his usual innate sense of nobility, but she wasn't _sure_. And if he reacted in the manner that… _Ron_ would, for instance, she didn't think she could handle it. _Please, Harry, please - justify my faith in you._

She felt a gentle touch, as her fingers were encased in his calloused ones, stilling them. Her eyes flew open - when had she closed them? She looked across into his beseeching eyes, begging for her confidence, as his thumb skidded across her knuckles. When she smiled at him, trying to be reassuring, her lips trembled.

"They - they told me that they'd raided a laboratory, a place where they had been mixing Muggle science and magic, doing genetic experiments on… people." Harry almost flinched in repulsion, but did not otherwise remark, waiting for her to finish. "They must have known the squad was coming - the place had been emptied and abandoned. But - but there was a little girl locked in a cell there, about four or five years old - they freed her, and - and she was - she _is_…mine."

She couldn't have explained to anyone why she reverted to the singular there at the end. _Ours _had been poised to drop from her tongue, and something in her brain had seized up and refused it egress.

Harry's thumb had stilled. His fingers twitched reflexively, as though he had nearly dropped her hand, but they did not lose contact.

"Yours?" The word was quietly spoken, deceptively casual, yet it had been dropped into the silence like a two-ton weight.

"Yes."

"H - how - I mean…I - I know how…normally, but - " His cheeks turned a dull red, and in any other situation, she might have laughed at his discomfiture. "I mean, I - I like to think I would have noticed…_that_… and what about - "

"Those people… they took an egg from me and - Merlin only knows why. The Aurors think that it was while we were in the hospital after the Final Battle." The 'we' in her sentence had been unintentional, and could have just as easily been innocuous, but his eyes had raced up to meet hers when she spoke it, and they seemed to burn with knowing.

"That isn't all they took, is it?"

She wanted to cry with relief. He did understand. She shook her head.

"And the child - the girl - it's not just that she's yours, is it? She's mine - that's what you came to tell me." This time, she nodded, still not trusting herself to speak. There was a long silence, broken only by the softest rush of the wind in the grass. Harry had taken her hand between both of his, and was chafing it back and forth with a distinct air of distraction. She watched the war behind his eyes.

_I have a daughter. I have a daughter with Hermione._ It was as if he'd shouted the words. His journey mirrored hers; she could track it clearly: bewilderment - _a child, _my _child -_the glint of panic - _Ginny…Ron_ - anger - _what gave them the right -_ and then… compassion. He was seeing a child shut in a cupboard under the stairs, forced to stay with people who did not love her, did not want her, saw her as a means to an end, a tool to be used and manipulated, manufactured in a lab for some sort of purpose as yet unknown. He had been there, could perhaps understand what she'd gone through as nobody else they knew.

"_Why_ would someone do this? What would be the point of it? We were never together. And - and I don't see why it would make - "

"Harry, they don't even know who it was. The lab had been stripped of most of the relevant information, and was leased to some dummy corporation. They managed to detain a few lower-level people, but so far, they aren't talking. Until we know who, we'll never know why."

Barely banked frustration simmered in the depths of Harry's eyes. She could see a thousand other questions jockeying for utterance, but he bit them all back. His hold on her hand gentled.

"They told you. Why didn't anyone come to tell me?"

"They were going to. I asked them if I could be the one to tell you." She took a moment to smile slightly at the wordless gratitude that flashed in Harry's eyes. "They wanted to check with me first - they thought I - " She colored slightly, and averted her eyes, her gaze going haphazardly across the windswept field. "They thought that we had - " She cleared her throat awkwardly. "— and that I had never told you about the baby, that I had concealed it from everyone."

"As if you would ever - " Harry almost spluttered, offended on her behalf.

"Harry, it's not like in vitro fertilization and genetic manipulation are exactly Wizarding household words. They don't know _us_ - not really." She scrunched up her shoulders, let them drop, and sighed. "They went after the most likely explanation."

"And that's what everyone else will do as well," Harry realized suddenly, and met Hermione's knowing eyes, seeing that he was still struggling to catch up to her level of awareness. She knew that he wasn't really talking about the Wizarding World as a whole, but rather about two specific redheaded individuals.

"Most likely - at least, at first." The silence straggled out between them, as potential Weasley shouting matches played out in their heads. "But of course, they'll believe us - they'll have to - " Hermione sounded as if she were trying to convince herself, rather than Harry.

"What are we going to do?" There was that Harry-abruptness that she loved so well. While she fretted and worried and paced, weighed options, listed pros and cons, Harry was interested in the bottom line and the next course of action. It soothed her; he wasn't one for hand-wringing and moaning about insurmountable problems… just _what are we going to do_ to fix it. She loved that about him.

"Well, I certainly don't think it's something we should keep from - from Ron and Ginny, but I don't see why anyone else needs to know about it. It's rather horrifying… but - but we were _victims_. We didn't ask for this. We didn't do anything wrong. And there are probably plenty of Wizarding couples out there who would love to - "

"You mean, you want to give her up?" His words tumbled out quickly over then end of her sentence. There was an odd note in Harry's voice, and he was looking at her as though he had mistaken her for someone else. It made her flush and feel defensive.

"I resent your tone, Harry." Her voice had grown frigid and her posture stiff.

"I just meant that - that we're not the _only _victims here." He sank down to the grass, hunching over bent knees, reliving some memory that Hermione had no part of. She knelt down next to him, so he wouldn't have to squint up at her, and put her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I know that." She had softened her tone, without actually conceding any ground. "But this isn't your fault. You didn't cause this. You don't have to - "

" - save her? Is that what you were going to say?" There was something impersonal, almost coldly sardonic, in his eyes as he looked at her. It was something that she didn't often see, something he reserved for people when he saw through their attempts to manipulate him - like members of the Wizarding Media.

"Yes, it was. There are people out there who can't have children - married, established couples who _want _children, who are ready for them now. Nobody would have to know who her parents were. Can you imagine the spectacle the _Prophet _would make? She'd never have any peace, if they knew. Wouldn't it be better this way?"

"But... a _family_, Hermione." The pent up longing in his voice surprised her. He and Ginny seemed to be in no great hurry to formalize their relationship, and while she knew he'd always wanted to be properly part of a family, she'd not suspected this level of vehemence.

"Not this family, Harry! Not like this! You should know better than anyone that sharing DNA with someone does _not _make them family. Some twisted, faceless scientist grew her in a lab!" She flinched at the look on his face, but plowed ahead anyway, determined to make him see reason. "I know she is a victim too, but even that fact does not put _you_ under obligation to her. You can't keep shouldering burdens for the entire world!"

Harry was silent for a very long time, and Hermione worried that she had been too harsh. She hadn't thought there were any bounds for her with Harry, but she wondered if she'd stepped out of them. She had moved her hand out of his hair, and instead played with the strands of cropped grass, feeling the breeze tousle her curls and watching him pensively.

"She's not the entire world. But she's my _daughter_. She's my daughter, and they _put her in a cupboard_." He paused for a moment, struggling to contain himself. "Don't you think she needs someone who understands that?"

"There are counselors, people who've been trained to - " Hermione tried again, but he was through letting her speak. She could tell by the determined flash in his green eyes that she had lost the battle.

"I - I know your way makes sense, Hermione. It's logical and rational and reasonable, and perfectly justifiable. But I don't think I could live with myself, if I - if I abandoned -"

"You've known about this for a quarter of an hour! Don't you think you should take a bit… and process this - this new development?"

"God, Hermione!" Harry hid his face in one hand and almost laughed. "How can you always sound so bloody clinical? And you haven't thought about it at all either - don't try and tell me you have. You've squashed it all into a corner of your mind, so you can - can poke it with a stick and take notes on it like some third party observer. You're going to keep doing that about important things, and one day you're just going to explode."

It rankled her that he knew her so well, but she did not deny the truth in what he said.

"I _have_ to be this `bloody clinical'. Someone needs to be, because _you're_ all the time going about leaping off of precipices! This is crazy! What are you going to do? Just sign her out? Take her home? Your flat isn't even set up to take care of a child! Do you know what kind of adjustment this means? Do you realize what you'll be giving up?"

"If there are things I'm giving up, I'm sure there are also things I'd be gaining." He raked his hands through his recalcitrant hair, and sighed. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Hermione." His voice was gentle and utterly without accusation. "But I've made my decision. I'm going to go see her. Is she at St. Mungo's?"

Hermione nodded weakly, and then added a feeble, "Shouldn't you discuss this with Ginny?"

"Ginny loves me. She'll understand why I'm doing this." There was a confident knowledge in his voice, but something flickered in his eyes that Hermione almost thought she'd imagined. Just the tiniest unspoken word of uncertainty: _if_ Ginny loves me… Hermione felt, rather than heard, his sigh, his gaze growing distant, as he pondered hypotheticals; all of them, judging from his expression, melancholy.

Finally, his green eyes cleared, and he nodded at her, a nod of determination, of decision - and apparently, of farewell, because he suddenly started for the edge of the field at a prodigious pace, aiming for the spot Morty where had vanished what seemed like eons ago. Hermione stood on the empty testing field, staring after Harry, who showed pure purpose in every stride. She'd never been able to make him see sense, not once he was really fixated on a course of action. It was insane, absurd; the Weasleys were going to hit the proverbial ceiling. And yet, she found herself jogging at an increasing pace after him, managing to break through the copse of trees and hook her arm around his elbow, just as he Apparated away.

Their twin Apparation made a noise like a rifle crack at the employee's entrance of St. Mungo's.

"You shouldn't do that," Harry said casually, as if they had not just been fighting about whether or not he should keep their daughter. "One of these days, I'll end up splinching you."

"You'd never splinch me." Hermione looked around at the banks of lockers where she had first seen Auror Dunwiddie - it seemed like ages ago already. "But while we're being critical, _you're _not supposed to be back here anyway."

"I always come back here," Harry protested. "Bronwyn doesn't mind. She'd have said so otherwise." Hermione rolled her eyes theatrically.

"Oh, please! She can barely gather up the nerve to string two words together around you! I think Ginny rather loathes her." She shook her head at the thought of the shy, pretty witch in charge of St. Mungo's Wizards Resource Department. "And you shouldn't use your fame like that. It makes you terribly unattractive."

Harry's grin was pure cheek. "Sweet Merlin, he has unauthorized access to the St. Mungo's Personnel Department! Harry Potter's corruption is complete!" Hermione couldn't stop the laugh that escaped, even as she tried to purse her lips into a dour expression. Why was it so hard to stay angry with him?

As they were crossing the threshold into the hospital proper, she pulled backward on the crook of his arm to stop his forward motion.

"Harry, are you sure about this?"

"Do you know where they have her?" His ignoring of her question served as his answer. She pressed her lips together, and looked at him with pleading eyes, casting about for any further delay.

"Auror Falworth did say that they wanted to talk to you." She tossed that newly remembered piece of information at him, hoping that they would be able to discuss this with some other people, other level-headed, rational people who might be able to dissuade him from this course of action. She felt inadequate to stand alone before the inexorable force of Harry's determination.

"I'll be happy to talk with them later. Hermione, I'd like to see her. Do you know where she is?" She looked at him one more time, as he simply watched her, waiting. She reflected that where Ron might be an incendiary device that one could either weather or dismantle, fighting with Harry was more like railing against the sheer granite face of a mountain. He would continue to do exactly what he thought was right, and wait for a concession of defeat.

"She's in a private room up in the Children's Ward. Fifth floor."

There was something nostalgic and faintly adoring in Harry's smile at her, as he graciously accepted her surrender with a kiss to her temple.

"Are you coming with me?"

She rolled her eyes, unable to remain irritated with him, even while she fretted over his lack of common sense and forethought.

"Why on earth would I stop now?"

Together, they headed in the direction of the lifts.


	6. Heritage Unveiled

**The Catalyst**

**Chapter Five: Heritage Unveiled**

The Children's Ward of St. Mungo's was a vividly decorated hallway, with doors of every color imaginable. Every surface was covered in tiny painted handprints that sometimes waved, gave passers-by a thumb's up, or tried to make off with the mediwitches' quills. The lights seemed brighter, the windows sunnier, and Hermione was sure this was by design. She reflected that even the merry decor could not quite conceal the smell and the feel of a hospital ward.

Hermione pointed down the hall, with the arm not still tucked into Harry's elbow. "It's this way. Five twenty-"

"Yes, the door with the Auror guard, right? I'd gathered that much." He sighed, and nudged her playfully in the ribs. "The Great Harry Potter," he mocked. "Can't even have children the normal way…" His second sigh assuaged her rumpled spirits by reminding her that Harry might seem to be all Gryffindor-Lion-full-speed-ahead, he was inwardly as uncertain as she was. "Have you been to see her then?" He was assuming that her knowledge of the room location arose from that fact.

Hermione felt the defensiveness rise up within her again. She didn't like to admit, even to herself, that she had had no intention of seeing their daughter, at least not in such context as the girl would be aware of their relationship. She couldn't help but continue to feel that this was yet another of Harry's harebrained, fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants schemes, and here she was again, along for the ride. _Just like always…_ She supposed there was something to be said for sticking with one's routines.

"No, Harry, I haven't." His name escaped her lips on a gust of air. "I hadn't decided yet what course of action to take - _still _haven't, as a matter of fact. I didn't think there was any point in revealing myself to her, if I wasn't - wasn't going to be around. You _really_ need to think about this. If you take her, is it really in her best interests? Or am _I_ hoping it wouldn't be in her best interests, so that I can be relieved of any responsibility or guilt about it? This whole day's been a whirlwind, and I just don't know anymore - I can't distinguish anymore - "

"—between what is right and what is easy," Harry rumbled unexpectedly, startling her. Annoyed, she tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp, but he prevented it. She was shaking her head that he'd dared to go there.

"That's not fair, Harry."

"I was just quoting…" He was all innocence. She was not fooled.

"I know what you were doing, and what you meant… and of course, that you're right in this instance, and I'm easy. Would that be - " She stopped when she heard Harry's snicker, and realized the double entendre in what she'd said. She speared him with a look of long-suffering acerbity, as he tried to school his features into a more serious mien. "I hate you, Harry."

"Easy _and _a liar…" he teased, and she felt the grin pulling unwillingly at her lips again. However, once they'd come up to _the_ door, easily enough spotted by the two Aurors posted on either side of it, any facade of lightheartedness or mirth fell away as if hit with _Finite __Incantatem_.

The younger of the two Aurors, dark-haired and somewhat self-important, looking just the far side of thirty, stepped forward and managed a perfunctory, "Identification please," before realizing who stood before him.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry enunciated the obvious slowly, and with entirely too much wide-eyed sincerity, as he flipped out the security badge that was charmed to allow him into all of the Brigadoon facilities. Hermione nudged him reprovingly in the side, and lifted her wand to show her St. Mungo's tag.

"Healer Granger… and Harry Potter… Harry…. _oh!_" The Auror had unfurled a short roll of parchment that most likely held a list of those who were authorized entry. His professionalism almost succeeded in masking the speculative glance he gave the two of them. Judging by that reaction, the parchment also revealed their relationship to the little girl. _Fabulous_, Hermione thought, as she felt Harry tense up beside her. Still eying them covertly, the Auror opened the door, and stood aside to let them pass.

Hermione knew from experience that most of the rooms on the hall were large, housing multiple beds, generally for those children requiring a greater amount of recuperation time from some sort of magical mishap, or for those needing long-term care for a wizarding disease with little to no hope of a cure. This, however, was a small single room, holding only one bed, a small end table, and a couple of chairs. A baby blue-curtained window allowed a few beams of sunlight through, although Hermione was nearly certain that they were merely magical in origin.

A little girl sat up on the bed, on top of the sheets, legs criss-crossed, in a hospital gown and socks. She had a spiral bound sketching tablet in front of her, and a box of Quilliver's Color-Change Crayons was spilled across the folded coverlet at the foot of the bed. She flicked a glance at them, first at their faces and then at their empty hands, and the mild trepidation left her face. She went back to her drawing.

"Hello there - erm…" Harry verbally stumbled, and sent Hermione a frantic look.

"Eleanor," she hissed.

"Eleanor." He cleared his throat awkwardly, and closed his eyes, appearing to screw up his nerve one last time, before he approached her bedside. "What're you drawing?" The picture was a large and crooked, gray oblong, with some kind of squarish cut-out missing at one end.

"My door."

"Your … door?" Another glance back at Hermione. She stifled a smirk, feeling a pang of sympathy for how out of his depth Harry seemed.

"Yes. It is the door at the place where I was."

"I had a door like that once," Harry volunteered suddenly, in a change from his awkwardness that rather surprised Hermione. His voice was genuine, and Eleanor seemed to recognize that. "Only it had lines crossing it like this." He flipped her paper over and, with her black crayon, sketched out an irregularly-shaped door with wainscoting and a small rectangular grate in the center. Almost immediately after he finished, the picture emitted a puff of smoke and his door turned teal.

Eleanor regarded him with wide, green eyes.

"Did the needle people keep you in there?"

"They didn't have needles, but they were not very nice people."

Eleanor appeared to mull this over, studying him for a moment, before co-opting his door sketch and coloring the slats in the grating with rainbow stripes. She didn't appear fazed by the psychedelic effect of the colors constantly switching back and forth.

"Dudley does not sound like a very nice boy."

Harry fumbled with the purple crayon that he'd been twiddling with, and dropped it on the floor.

"Where did you hear about D-dudley?"

"He is your cousin. And you are my father. That means Rhu is a liar - she said I did not have parents. Will you hand me that purple please?"

Harry did so, taking the time to exchange a flummoxed glance with Hermione, as he knelt to retrieve the wayward crayon. Wordlessly, he handed it to the little girl who continued to touch up his drawing.

"Did your door have a circle handle, or a long, skinny one?" She spoke conversationally, using proper, almost too-precise grammar and syntax. She did not make much eye contact, but seemed fully engrossed with the artwork before her.

"Oh - er - it had a - a round one." She flicked her eyes up to his again, and chose a yellow to draw the door knob.

"Eleanor?" Hermione spoke this time, her voice calm and soothing. Harry could tell that she was speaking as though she were merely a Healer on rounds. "How did you know that Harry is your father?"

"He said so." There was a brief silence, broken only by the sound of crayon strokes on paper. "Only not with his mouth. And I heard him."

"Do you always hear those things? That people say inside their heads?"

"If I can see them, I can hear them. But sometimes I can make them be quiet, if I try really hard." She darted a look of disquiet at them that Hermione had a hard time interpreting.

"Eleanor, you don't have to worry about us," Harry surprised Hermione by interjecting. "Whatever those…needle people told you not to do or not to say, they're gone now. The Aurors rescued you, and you don't have to go back to those people ever again. I promise. You can answer any questions that you want to; you can talk about anything that's bothering you."

"I was not supposed to talk about it - about hearing what people do not say. The doctor said I was never to listen to… to what _they_ were not-saying. Unless we were playing the card game."

"Card game?"

"Yes. They wanted me to see the pictures on the cards, without seeing them. Rhu or Zed would hold up a card, and I could only see the back. Sometimes, I did not know what the pictures were. But if Rhu or Zed saw them, then I could see them too."

"Have you always been able to do this?" Hermione spoke again, a kind of dawning horror welling up in her dark eyes.

"I cannot remember. I think maybe the medicine did it." She shuddered a little, and started to put the crayons back in their shimmering box. She speared Harry with a sharp look, and answered his unvoiced question. "Sometimes I drank it - it was like very nasty juice. And sometimes, it was the… needles… Sometimes the medicine made me sleepy, and sometimes it made me feel hot inside, and sometimes everything turned rainbow colors and I floated away. They liked to play the card game. Or to see if I could make things go up in the air or get smaller or go away." She seemed to curl down into herself, plucking at the blankets, as if she would like to take shelter beneath them or barricade herself behind them. Without comment, Harry moved her up to the head of the bed, and arranged the sheets and blankets to tuck her in. He moved the crayons and paper over to the small table. When he made eye contact with Hermione again, he was startled to see that she was holding back angry tears with difficulty.

Eleanor jerked her gaze up to meet his, as though he'd shouted at her. Her eyes were mournful.

"Do you think I am bad? Or scary?"

"Eleanor, why on earth would I think you were bad or scary?" Harry propped one hip against the edge of the bed, and leaned forward so she could face him. "If I'm thinking angry things, it's because I'm angry at them, not at you. The needle people were wrong. To do those things to you. To lock you behind that door. To make you feel like you were being bad or scary."

"But they were scared of me. When I did things I should not do, or opened things I should not open. Then they looked at me, and whispered behind their masks, and I heard them not-say that I might hurt them. And they gave me the bracelet so I could not do those things. But Auror Falworth took it off. His wife's name is Regina. He is very nice."

"Aha, so I've caught you talking about me, Eleanor! Saying all good things, I hope!" His jovial voice preceded Stuart Falworth into the room. He was all smiles, but Harry knew he had missed nothing as he entered. He held out a hand for Harry to shake. "Mr. Potter." And gave a nod of recognition, "Healer Granger. Thornton let me know that you had arrived. I hope you don't mind that I've come. There are some things we should go over."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, and Harry stood, poised to move away from the bed. Eleanor grabbed at his hand, but jerked back almost as soon as she'd made contact. Harry arrested his own forward motion in surprise, looking at the little girl, who recoiled away from his attention.

"I am sorry!" she said almost frantically. Harry reached out to take her hand, but she shrank further away from him, coming perilously close to falling off the far side of the hospital bed.

"Eleanor! Eleanor, it's okay." He held his hand out, palm up, and waited.

"I am not supposed to - "

"I'm not going to hurt you. Ever. And you don't have to worry about hurting me." He actually had no idea if she had any other exceptional magical abilities, but he left his hand there, dangling in space midway between them. "Did you need me for something?"

"I - I wanted you to … stay…" The last word was barely audible, and she wouldn't look at him.

"I'm just going to speak with Auror Falworth for a bit. I'll be right back, I promise."

He moved away from her then, and followed Hermione out of the room, but not without giving Eleanor one more reassuring look before the door closed behind him.

Auror Falworth led them across the hall to what looked like a small meeting room, interrupting a Healer's approach to Eleanor's room, and gesturing for her to join them as well.

"Healer Desai is presiding over Eleanor's case," he informed them.

"Hermione," the petite woman acknowledged, shifting the stack of parchments in her arms.

"Shravana," Hermione murmured in response. Harry offered his obligatory - and unnecessary - introduction, shaking Healer Desai's hand, as she gave him the usual _yes, I know_ look in return.

"I gather Healer Granger's brought you up to speed?" Falworth addressed Harry, who nodded in reply. "I wanted to assure you that we are doing everything to locate the wizards or Muggles who implemented this operation. We have a few people detained, and I expect to receive the authorization to use Veritaserum by this evening." He opened his accordion file, which expanded to cover most of the tabletop, and pulled out a sheaf of parchment. "Healer Granger did seem to indicate that the two of you would consider having the child adopted. The Intercessor gave me the paperwork, and this can be drawn up as soon as you would wish. It can be kept quite confidential. Would you want to have your personal solicitor contacted?" He was withdrawing several quills.

"Healer Granger was misinformed." Harry's voice was cool. Hermione flinched; the use of her surname stung.

"I see." Auror Falworth's eyebrows arched upward in surprise. "So the two of you have decided to … " His gaze encompassed both of them.

"_I've_ decided. I'm her father; _how_ she came to be is irrelevant to me. Is she here for treatment, or can she go? Is there something I need to sign? She doesn't like it here."

"We've done everything in our power to make her comfort -" Healer Desai rushed to the defense of her ward.

"Her childhood and mine share quite a few similarities. I can tell that she doesn't want to be here. It may be a different door, but it's still a door." Everyone but Hermione expressed bafflement at that incomprehensible statement.

"There are several tests that we haven't finished running, but your daughter is uninjured, and I'm sure you could - "

"Tests?" There was an undertone in Harry's voice that Hermione recognized as dangerous. "The first things out of her mouth when we walked in her room are about needle people and potions that make her hallucinate, and you're conducting more _tests_?"

"She's still considered a ward of the Ministry, and we are only - "

"Where is the paperwork?" Harry thrust his hand out peremptorily for a quill. "I'll sign it right now, and I'll - " Wordlessly, Auror Falworth slid the appropriate piece of parchment toward him, and he signed it, while muttered phrases like "any common human decency" and "treat her like a lab rat" reached their ears.

"Mr. Potter," Healer Desai finally broke through his ire to catch hold of his attention. "I would respectfully ask you to reconsider. These tests are not invasive or painful. And while perhaps, given your daughter's background, the situation might be less than ideal, she is largely a mystery to us. She is showing signs of extraordinarily advanced telepathy - we don't know why. We've never seen anything like it before. It should be impossible at her age, and would be rare at any age. Besides that, we need to determine if anything else was done to her. We need to know if there will be any long-term damage from the signs of chronic potion usage that we've seen. For her well-being and to have her case solved, these tests are necessary."

Auror Falworth backed her up. "The Magical Forensics department is studying the bracelet we found on her. There is some evidence that it worked to repress magic, but she was freely exhibiting her telepathy when we freed her, _with_ the bracelet still on. I've also got people looking for the - what did you call her, Healer Granger? - the gestational carrier - perhaps she had a bond with the child, and she'd be willing to tell us something. I've got people looking at the books on Magical Records down at the Ministry, to see if we can garner any additional clues to her origin. I can only imagine what you're feeling right now, Mr. Potter, but it would be most helpful if you were to continue to work _with _us."

Harry managed a somewhat curt nod, with the barest hint of conciliation flickering in his eyes.

"I would be a sorry parent if what's best for Eleanor did not immediately become my first concern. If this is to help _her_, or to find out who did this to her, then you'll have my cooperation. The first hint that it's to … satisfy someone's _scientific_ curiosity…" His expression indicated what he did not say.

"If she'll stay here the night, she can leave with you tomorrow, and anything else we need can be done on an outpatient basis." Healer Desai seemed appreciative to get that much from him.

"And the Aurors will certainly keep you apprised of the investigation's progress. We are certainly treading new ground in this case… as, apparently are you," he added after a beat.

After Falworth had left, and Desai had excused herself to check on Eleanor, Harry made to follow the healer back to his daughter's room, but was blocked by a bone-crushing hug and a mass of curly hair.

"Not that I don't always love your hugs, Hermione, but - "

"I don't know if I've ever felt so _proud _of you, and so ashamed of myself at one time before," she murmured, her voice muffled into his shoulder.

"Hermione - " he began to demur, always hating to hear someone run her down, even if it was herself.

"You're right. Of course you're right. How can we not take her? How could - I mean, you couldn't very well sit by and - after all she's been through, and - I couldn't believe it, the way she talked about what they did to her… mind-altering, and - and just filling her up with potions and sitting back and watching what they did to her… it - it made me so _angry_, and - and sad - and then you - you were so good with her, you seemed to know just how to reach out to her, and I realized that was because you'd been there, just where she is, alone… and unwanted. And it all - it's all so - I don't know what we're going to do, Harry. I don't know how we'll arrange it, or what we'll tell people, or - or what to say to the Weasleys, and I - it just - " Hermione finally lost steam, and sniffled noisily into his shoulder.

"Ick. Geroff me, Granger!" He pushed at her playfully, and his grin took any potential sting out of his words. "I don't know how we'll handle all the details either, but I _do _know that if it's you and me facing just about anything this world could dish out - well, I'd lay money on the two of _us _just about any day of the week."

"Well," she managed drily, groping for her usual equanimity, "I've always said I didn't think you had much sense."

Harry reflected on the long, obstacle-ridden road they'd been traveling since they became friends so many years ago. His eyes flickered with nostalgia for an instant, and then glinted with amusement, as they walked back to Eleanor's room.

"Yeah…" he mused. "But thank God for that."


	7. Life Rearranged

**The Catalyst**

**Chapter Six: Life Rearranged**

Harry slid out of Eleanor's hospital room some hours later, moving even as the door shut with a decisive click. He had promised the little girl that he would be back later that night, would make sure he was present when she awakened the next morning. She had the wide-eyed, stoic look of someone who wanted desperately to cry, but either didn't know how to go about it, or feared that there would negative consequences if she did.

Once the door shut, Harry let a muffled curse escape his lips, as he ran both hands through his hair, shoulders slumping with fatigue. Hermione had preceded him into the hallway, and stood quietly consulting with Healer Desai over Eleanor's chart.

"Can - can someone stay with her - until I get back, I mean?" Harry blurted suddenly, catching the full attention of both women. The question was directed to Desai, and Hermione stood silently, seeming, as she had done thus far, content to let Harry take the lead. "I - I just hate to think of her shut in that room by herself. I - I can _feel_ how much she hates it, and how terrified she really is, and how she's been… conditioned to - to show nothing of what she's feeling on the inside, and I - " He was thinking of the cupboard under the stairs, and the mute compliance, and the desperate need to please, and the fear that he would do something wrong without even realizing it. He voiced none of that in front of the Healer, but he could tell that Hermione had deduced all of it, and then some, by the look on her face.

"We can certainly have an Intercessor sit with her, Mr. Potter, if you'd like." Healer Desai's words were carefully measured. Harry wondered if he was being humored, and then found that he really didn't care. He began to feel that monumental decisions were pressing in on him, that people were watching, judging, that he was going to fail them all… He wasn't sure he'd felt that kind of alarm since the conclusion of the Final Battle.

"Thank you. I'd really appreciate it." His voice proceeded calmly from his mouth, but his eyes had already telegraphed his impending panic. Hermione had crossed the tiled corridor, and looped her arm through his in one smooth motion.

"Let's go, Harry." He realized with faint annoyance that she was using her Healer's voice on _him_. "We'll go back to your flat, make sure things are set up properly, floo Ron and Ginny, and order in pizza." Her voice was a little too bright; it sounded brittle, like spider-webbed glass, as if her entire facade would crumble into a thousand pieces if overly jostled.

"I'm not one of your patients, Hermione," he sniped at her, as they made their way back toward the lifts at the far end of the ward.

"Imagine my gratitude," she replied blandly, drawing another accusing glare from him. She waited until the lift doors closed around them, before pouncing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Silence. He hated Hermione's knowing stares… the ones that were calm and unruffled and regarded you with a kind of superior placidity. _I've got all day_, they generally seemed to say, _I know what's going on, and I can wait as long as it takes until you talk to me about it._

"Well, Hermione," he finally ventured, sarcasm so heavy in his voice that it cracked. "I can't imagine what would bloody well be wrong! We've got to go explain a completely bizarre situation to our significant others, and then I'm going to have a daughter that I didn't even know about prior to today come and live with me, and I have no idea what in the hell I'm even supposed to do! I mean - taking Teddy to the zoo every now and then or letting him have doughnuts for dinner while we watch Disney movies in the living room is not exactly like being a _real _parent, is it? Not to mention the possibility that there is some nutter out there engineering _people_, and I'm not convinced that the fact that they chose _us_ in particular is irrelevant." He darted a glance at her, arching his dark brows, clearly waiting for her to say something like _I told you so_.

"Thank you, Harry," she breathed softly and unexpectedly, sliding a little closer to him, and leaning her cheek against his shoulder. He snorted in self-deprecating amusement.

"Whatever for?"

"For being human." At his questioning look, she continued, "for _not _being St. Harry, the guardian of those in need of rescue… at least not _all_ the time. Besides, don't all new fathers go through something like this? Do you remember how nervous Bill was the day Victoire was born?" He made a dissenting noise that seemed to indicate that _that_ situation was not quite the same. She leaned into him once more, nudging him with her cheek and shoulder and arm. "I may not always be sure about your reasoning, but I've always been sure about your heart. Eleanor is a very lucky little girl to have you as a father. And it - it might be hard, but…you know I'm with you, right?"

He bussed the top of her head, as the lift disgorged them out into the lower hallway.

"You always are… and it occurs to me that I probably don't thank you enough for it."

"_Probably?_" She drawled sarcastically, and he poked her in the side, making her yelp and dance sideways away from him. He waited just inside the Employee's entrance, while she retrieved her bag, thinking about how much everything had changed since she arrived at the testing field to drop this bombshell on him.

"I should Floo Brig," he said suddenly. "I mean, I guess I could bring Eleanor to Clampshaven with me, but I'm probably going to need a couple of days off anyway."

"Harry, don't - " Hermione started, but Harry had already gone around the corner to the alcove where she knew Bronwyn's office was tucked away. She heard Harry's voice, chummy and overly jovial.

"Afternoon, Bronwyn. I hate to ask you this, but I am in desperate need of your fireplace. Work emergency - would you mind terribly?" Hermione could not make out Bronwyn's reply, but the timbre of her voice was high-pitched and fluttery. A moment later, the department Head came out into the common area where Hermione waited. Harry's best friend stifled a smirk and shook her head, feeling a interesting mixture of awe and disgust that Harry could barge in, kick someone out of her own office, _and _make her happy to do so.

"Hello, Bronwyn,"

"Harry needed to use my Floo," Bronwyn informed her, in lieu of a greeting. Her face and neck were crimson in contrast with her cream-colored Administrative robes.

"So I hear."

Harry rounded the corner scant minutes later, and Hermione didn't think he'd disclosed much information to Brig, not over an unsecured Floo connection, but some of his earlier agitation seemed to have left him, and his eyes were calmer.

"Thanks ever so, Bronwyn," he said, smiling briefly at her before linking his arm with Hermione's and Apparating away with a small snap.

"She'll talk about that for _weeks_," Hermione said in her best Lavender Brown imitation, her brown eyes glinting with teasing, as they appeared in the living room of Harry's flat. Harry's responding look was dour at best.

"So," Harry tucked both hands into his back pockets, and his eyes flew over the contents of the room with the air of an experienced surveyor. "What do we do first?"

"If I were you, I'd start by unearthing that junk heap you call a spare bedroom. It's going to be hard for Eleanor to stay there, if you can't even find it."

He cut her a mock glare of offense, and then theatrically performed a _Point Me_ spell and trotted off in the direction that his wand had spun. The burble of her laughter that followed him like a forest brook tripping over smooth stones was heartening. He paused momentarily at the threshold, attempting to determine where he should begin. The room was not as unclean as it was cluttered. Harry generally used it as a depository for anything that did not otherwise have a place to go, figuring he'd "get to it later" - which he usually didn't.

"Shall I Floo Ron and Ginny?" Hermione's voice drifted down the hall, and the light memory of laughter was still within it. But Harry caught the deeper undercurrent as well, one of trepidation. He couldn't help but selfishly reflect that if she Flooed, then he wouldn't have to.

"Ginny finished up at the shop an hour ago, but Ron's class runs another two, doesn't it?" he called back, as he conjured up a Banishing Bin charmed for Waste Obliteration, and began sending stacks of fan mail that he'd never got around to opening into its gaping maw. He sorted out loose photographs, old ones from Colin and newer ones that Ginny had taken, storing them in a shoebox in the top of the closet. He shrank the Muggle treadmill that Seamus and Dean had bought him, mostly as a joke, and stored it on the top shelf as well.

"You're right." He heard her sigh. "I'll go ahead and Floo Ginny, and then leave a message for Ron at the training desk that we're eating dinner here tonight." He could hear the whoosh of green flames, and two feminine voices in conversation, as he hefted his drafting table, lodged conveniently in the most accessible corner, into the hallway, and then Levitated it into his bedroom. By the time, Hermione had accomplished her tasks, he had cleared out most of the floor space, and emptied out most of the closet.

He used magic to shift the furniture around, and then hit the entire room with a couple of particularly deft Carpet Cleaning and Dust Banishing charms. He was surveying the results with some measure of satisfaction, when Hermione ducked under his arm to look as well.

"Used the pair of them, did you?" She was grinning saucily at him.

"Why does that make you so happy? Because I actually _do_ use them on occasion, or because _you _were the one who managed to get them to stick in my thick head?"

"I'm not sure who started that particular myth - if it's something you believe because you were told so as a child, or if you just act like it sometimes - I don't know, to make Ron feel better or something…" She chuckled lightly over her last words. "But, you, Harry Potter, _do not_ have a `thick head'." As she said the last phrase, she poked him in the side of the head, twice, just behind his ear. He would've have winced playfully away from her and said an insincere, "Ow!" Or grabbed her around the waist, and started tickling her…

But the pads of her fingers yielded and slid silkily through the strands of his hair instead, and the playful touch turned into an almost-caress. He hesitated, his brow furrowing, as he watched her with something like bemusement. She had a look on her face, the one she got when she was puzzling out a particularly tricky potions combination, as if she were trying to figure out where she'd seen him before.

"I think you should paint," she announced abruptly, swirling away from him and breaking the contact. "A Color-Change charm would work, although it wouldn't last as long as actual paint. But by then, you could ask Eleanor what she wants." The furniture included a bed, dresser, and night table, and the pieces were part of a mismatched set handed down from Bill and Fleur. Having as little interest in home decor as one might imagine, and yet still having a vague sense of obligation that a room ought to have furniture in it, Harry had been well pleased with the ease of the donation and its subsequent arrangement.

Hermione's wand was flashing rapidly now, as she worked on the rather battered wooden furnishings, tightening and polishing hardware and smoothing out nicks and cracks. In another instant, she had changed the walls to a soothing pale purple, and then set all the furniture neatly into place, finally using a switching spell to change the bedding.

"She'll need clothes… perhaps a comforter for the bed… some toys and books, of course…"

"Oh, _of course_," Harry mocked the off-hand tone when she referenced books.

"We should be able to do that tomorrow, but it'll have to wait until I finish my shift… would that work for you?"

"Erm…I guess," Harry floundered slightly. The looming sensation was beginning to crest again. He had not thought so far ahead. Hermione noticed immediately; her eyes flickered with guilt.

"Harry, I'm sorry. I'm running roughshod over whatever you might have planned or want to do, aren't I? Ron is always fussing at me for taking charge, without so much as a by-your-leave." Something shadowy flitted across her face - the same something that had worried him so during their lunchtime jaunt to the ice cream parlor.

"Hermione, I'm not afraid of admitting that I'm pants at details. And I know - I _know_ - " He wrapped his hands around her upper arms, and peered intently into her face. " - that when you take charge, it is because you _care_ about the person involved. I'm glad you care enough about me - and about Eleanor - to worry about the details. Ron should feel that way too."

There was a veiled and unintentional slight toward Ron enclosed in the way he spoke the last sentence. He heard it, as it exited his mouth. She heard it, and hastened to clarify to him that that was not at all what she meant. But her explanatory words were cut off by the flare of the Floo, and Harry knew Ginny had just arrived.

He let go of Hermione, kneading the muscles of her upper arms lightly as he released them, and moved toward the door, his stomach pushing its way up into his throat. She caught his hand between her fingers in a quick squeeze. _It's going to be okay_, she mouthed, but he could see the uncertainty banked in the depths of her dark eyes.

Ginny expressed surprise in the redecoration of the spare room, and was somewhat dubious over the color choice. Harry implied without actually saying so that Hermione couldn't stand even knowing the spare room was there in such a state, and had bullied him into doing something with it. They sent for the pizza, and Hermione and Ginny Apparated down to a nearby wizarding market for drinks and dessert.

All too soon, Ron's lanky form materialized in the fireplace, and they were seated on the floor around the low coffee table, two large pizza boxes open in the center. Harry looked at his slice with distaste, unsure whether or not he'd even be able to swallow. The silence stretched out for so long that awkwardness began to seep in the cracks.

"All right, what gives?" Ginny finally asked, washing down a bite with a swig of butterbeer. "Hermione looks as tense as bird in a bludger shop." Harry jerked his gaze up to look at Hermione with surprise, having thought she looked quite calm and collected. She offered him a faint reassuring smile, and patted his hand under the table.

"Hermione came to the Clampshaven field today," Harry started slowly, scratching absently at the back of his neck, as he cast about for the right words to use. "Seems there were Aurors at St. Mungo's, and they needed to find me. You see, there - there was a raid at a … at kind of an illegal research facility - "

"I heard about that raid," Ron interrupted, genuine interest obvious in his voice. "Falworth ran it - a good bloke, he is - must have been a big deal. Usually, they go over all the ongoing cases during the daily briefing… but they've been playing this one really close to their robes."

"Well, they - they found a little girl, about 5 years old, left behind in a cell at that facility, and - and she'd been experimented on; they'd pumped her full of potions to see what magic she evidenced." There were exclamations of shock and horror from the Weasley siblings.

"But why were they looking for you, Harry?" Ginny put in, leaning toward him with entreating eyes. "You got out of the Auror game quite a while ago."

"I'm not sure you could say I was ever truly in it." Harry had gotten into the training class with Ron, and about six weeks in, had discovered that he genuinely had no desire to continue those kinds of battles for the rest of his life. He'd run into Brig's son at Quality Quidditch Supplies the next day… and the rest was history. Hermione nudged him in the shin with the toe of her trainer, and snapped him from his reverie. "The Aurors were looking for me because the… " One more deep breath. One more glance at Hermione. "Because the little girl belongs to me."

The silence in Harry's flat was complete. Ginny and Ron both stared at him, as if waiting for him to give them the punch line.

"Be - belongs to _you_?" Ginny said in a voice without comprehension, faint anger lacing the edges. "That's crazy. They know who you are - surely it isn't that far-fetched that someone would _claim_ - "

"They did an Origination Spell at St. Mungo's, Ginny," Hermione broke in softly. "Harry's pattern is on file there. I reviewed it myself."

"How - how did that - how could you - " Ginny almost gasped the words, as if her lungs could not get enough air to voice them properly. Her eyes were filling with tears, but her face was reddening. Harry figured it was anybody's guess as to whether sadness or anger would win out.

"You need to listen to the whole story, Gin - " Harry's eyes were beseeching. He tried to take hold of her hand; she jerked away from his touch, as if he would burn her. "It's not what you're thinking…"

"Well… explain it to me then, by all means!" The clog of tears was evident in her voice. "Was it my sixth year, then? When you were supposed to be in school, but were gallivanting all over Merlin-knows-where? Who - " Ginny's face was suffusing Weasley-red, but she was fighting for a semblance of control. "Who's her mother?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance of dread. It suddenly seemed that they had gone about this all wrong; suddenly they were faced with the million-galleon question, _before_ they had been able to share the unusual Muggle science behind the odd situation.

"I - I - I am." Hermione tried a couple of times before her voice actually came out properly. "But it didn't happen like that. You _both _have to listen." She had been watching Ginny, who still looked like she was having difficulty breathing.

Heavy footfalls and the sound of Harry's door slamming decisively startled the other three out of their horrified trance, the tense and mangled emotions like a pea-soup fog around them. Harry jumped as if he'd been hit with a Stinging Hex.

Ron was gone.

Hermione was on her feet in the next instant, and out the door in the instant after that. Harry's door slammed again.

She did not return.

That surprised Harry, and when the feelings of hurt began to creep in, he tried to dismiss them. _Of course she went after him - this is _not _like during the Horcrux Hunt. She'll be back later. He needs to hear the truth; she'll tell him, and then she'll be back. Besides, she said she's with me on this, and she has never broken a promise to me._Then why did it chafe him so that she'd gone after her fiance? But he couldn't think about that at present; there were more pressing issues pending. He looked back at his angry, confused, and shell-shocked girlfriend. He took her hand, and this time she did not resist.

"Please don't leave, Ginny. You've got to hear what really happened. I swear I am telling you the unvarnished truth…"


	8. Battle Lines Drawn

**The Catalyst**

**Chapter Seven: Battle Lines Drawn**

It seemed that Hermione could feel the impact of the sidewalk against the soles of her trainers jarring all the way up her back, as she pelted after Ron, nearly stumbling down the steps in her haste. She was just beginning to become seriously winded, when she caught sight of him. He was walking quickly, but smoothly, long, ground-eating strides, his head tucked down between two awkwardly hunched shoulders. He curved round to enter an alley, from which he could Apparate more privately, and she saw the exact moment that he noticed her pursuit: he stiffened briefly, as though he'd had a bolt of lightning jolt down his spine. Still, the check in his gait was all but infinitesimal.

She pressed herself harder, wishing she had tried more diligently to stay fit, ignoring the stabbing pain in her side, ignoring the startled glances of the people she was dodging. "Ron!" she called out between gasps, as she ducked into the alley. Her voice sounded as hopeless as her heart felt. "Ron! Wait!"

She was almost within arm's reach. If she lunged just a bit, she could catch him at the crook of his arm, she could… but something held her back. She couldn't do that to him, unsure of his ability to Apparate with an unexpected someone suddenly dangling off of him. And just that quickly, he was gone. She stood in the alley, chest heaving, arms akimbo, the warm and moist odor of refuse wafting around her.

Her mind clicked through a list of options in rapid succession, and she Apparated back to her own flat with hardly more noise than the crisp snapping of a twig. Using her own Floo as a base of operations, she checked his flat, the Burrow, his workplace, and George's shop, even as she discarded all of those places for being rather too obvious. She even made herself go to the pub and the Quidditch supply store, before telling herself sternly that she was grasping at straws.

In less than thirty minutes, she was sitting back in her little lounge, staring glumly at the merrily dancing flames. _I wonder how Harry's doing with Ginny? _she mused. _At least, _she _stayed to hear him out. _At the same time though, even while she despaired of Ron's reaction, she couldn't dredge up much shock. _I knew this would happen. I know him better than almost anyone, and I knew…_

And then inspiration struck her like a bolt from the blue. With the air of one fortifying herself, she dabbed two fingers at the dampness beneath her eyes, dusted off her Floo-stained shoulders, and made one cursory attempt to smooth her wild hair. She inhaled one deep steadying breath, before Apparating to St. Mungo's.

She strode gracefully out of the employee's locker room for what felt like the millionth time that day, and methodically moved through the various common areas of the hospital, surveying them in an efficient pattern. A pang of relief shot through her body like a spear thrust when she saw the splash of red hair at a corner table for two in the cafeteria. His very posture bespoke glumness; he was slumped over the cracked Formica as if he could divine secrets from it. He had his feet in the chair across from him, but removed them as she approached, without even really looking at her.

"Figures you'd find me," he grunted, glancing at her briefly, and just as quickly dropping his gaze again.

"You really should've known I would," she rejoined companionably. "Ron, I – "

"Merlin knows why I came here. I wanted to see – I thought – but I should've known that anything involving Harry would be way above my pay grade." There was the barest hint of a sneer when he said Harry's name that mightily discomfited Hermione. She pressed her lips together tightly, as she inhaled through her nose, trying to grasp onto some semblance of control, trying to remind herself that Ron had had a shock, that he was reacting as he always had when faced with something he did not wish to face.

"Ron, there is no need for this to change anything, not between you and me, not between you and Harry."

"Are you daft, Hermione? This changes _everything_!"

"Why?" Her dark eyes entreated him; her voice so pleading that it cracked, dividing the short word into two syllables. "Harry and I are _friends_. Nothing more. The one who is changing things here is you. You didn't even let us explain."

"What is there to explain?" Ron's voice was sullenly cruel. "I suppose I brought it on myself, didn't I? Ran off and left my best mate and the girl I loved when they needed me most. Abandoned them like the lowest kind of Slytherin coward, and deserved whatever I got in return, yeah? How long did you wait after I left?"

Hermione's nostrils flared with dismayed offense, as she visibly recoiled away from him. She felt color climb so high into her face that she thought she might combust right there in the cafeteria. If they hadn't been in so public a setting, she might have hit him.

"How _dare_ you!?" she hissed. "How could you think that about me? About Harry? He's the – he's the single most – he – he _loves_ you, Ron! You were his first friend, his brother. Even if he wanted to, and I've never seen the slightest indication of that – he – he wouldn't – and – and I wouldn't – " She seemed to collect herself before she tumbled over the edge of sputtering incoherence, and resumed in a sadder tone: "It hurts, Ron, that you would think that of us. It did hurt when you left us, but I thought – I thought we'd moved past all that. Don't twist your guilt over that back onto Harry and me. We have _never _betrayed you. You always – whenever there's – " She threw up both hands in utter exasperation. In a low, flat voice, she succinctly summarized the situation with Eleanor as she knew it to that point.

"There's a lot they don't know yet." Some of the storm-cloudiness had faded from Ron's face as she spoke, but it was tinted with shame. "They must have done it while we recovered here after the battle. The Aurors have no idea who did it – or why."

"Then why do you have to be involved at all? There's nothing really tying you to – you didn't even know about her! What would – ?"

"It's Harry," Hermione cut him off with a shrug. "She's part of him, carries his blood… he's already claimed her as his – he did it when he'd only known about her for half an hour, just as simply as that. The people who did this chose Harry – chose me – for a reason. But I'll bet they aren't prepared to deal with a Harry who has decided to fully embrace the fatherhood that they forced on him."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" She echoed, trying to sound natural, but feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.

"Harry has decided to do this. What about you? You're her – her mother…" Ron looked as if he were narrowly avoiding choking on the final word.

"I – I would've been inclined to approve adoption, but Harry was just – he was so _sure_… right away. I should've known what his reaction would be to the possibility of family. He's chosen this, and I … told him he'd have my support."

"Support? What does that mean? What does it mean for us?" Some of Ron's ire, mixed with fear and not a little jealousy, had started to ooze back into his voice. She looked at him for a long time, and Ron would have given anything to have been able to read what was going on behind her eyes, the way – although he was loath to admit it – Harry always seemed able to.

"It means … it means that you need to come to terms with the fact that I have a child with another man. However that came to pass. Eleanor is _our _daughter, mine and Harry's, and we – what is your _problem_, Ron?" Ron had visibly flinched over Hermione's description of the child.

"This! You! You and Harry – all this 'our' and 'we' – and – I'm your – I'm your bloody fiancé, and it's like I'm this outsider looking in. You and Harry have always had this exclusive little circle, and now – and now this is just another thing I have no part in."

"Of all the - _This is not about you_! It's not even about Harry or me – not really. This is about a little girl who has been engineered into existence, who has been tested and tortured, but never been loved. Can you possibly get your head out of your arse long enough to recognize that?! It's going to be a monumental change – that's certain enough. I was pretty bewildered at first. But Harry – he just decided – right then – that she was his and he wanted her. I thought – I thought maybe you'd come to love her too… just because she was mine." Tears flooded her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to keep them at bay, trying to stifle a noisy sniff.

"Hermione…" Ron choked out in a rough voice. He reached across to take her hand, but she jerked it off the table, beyond his reach.

"Can't you – couldn't you just once… process something, think through all the aspects of something, before flying off your broom handle?"

"Of course! Because I'm sure, in all the time we've known him, _Harry_ has never had a knee-jerk reaction to unpleasant news!"

"I've never once claimed that Harry was not impetuous – but he generally acts out of love, not out of jealousy or fear – You immediately assume the worst about people – about people you supposedly _love_."

"I cannot tell you how bleeding tired I am of being compared to Harry!" Ron's voice started out at a low rumble, but crescendoed enough to begin drawing attention from neighboring tables.

"You started it!"

"The hell I did! That's all I've bloody well heard since I first met you! 'Harry doesn't think that –' … 'Harry wouldn't –'… 'if Harry were here, he'd –'"

"That's not true," she whispered, horribly stung at his bitter words, part of her wondering if it was true. "I – I don't do that. We both know that Harry has issues like anyone else."

"Yes, but when Harry has problems, it's because he had a stunted childhood, or has abandonment issues, or lived with the threat of death for too long. When I've got a problem, it's because I'm a jealous, suspicious prick, who – "

"If the shoe fits…" Hermione trailed off with airy nastiness.

"You are the _single_ most infuriating bird I have _ever_ had the misfortune to meet!"

"And yet, you want to marry me?" She cocked her head to one side, in mock befuddlement. "That doesn't make very much sense, Ronald." She took a moment of fiendish pleasure to appreciate the way the angry color drained from his face.

"Hermione, I – "

"I can't even look at you right now! I don't know why I keep hoping that you'll behave differently. Owl me when you're ready to be a rational adult." She stood, with as much dignity as she could muster, and exited the cafeteria, trying her hardest to ignore the ripple of murmurs that arose in her wake. She did not look back.

* * *

The silence in her flat was dense and total. Hermione had curled into the smallest ball possible on the far end of her slouchy sofa, holding a book in which she had not turned a page for the last half hour. She had cried so much that her eyes felt dry and tight, and a headache throbbed a steady drumbeat in her temples.

_The bad times are kind of tiresome,_ she recalled her words to Harry from earlier. _Tiresome,_ she thought sardonically. After the kind of day she'd had, that seemed like a colossal understatement. Her mother had always told her that there were some things worth fighting for, that things dearly bought, with difficulty and perseverance, were the things worth the most. She had thought she believed those things; her time in the war seemed to prove it. But perhaps she was wrong in categorizing her relationship with Ron as one of those things. _Is Ron worth fighting for? It seems that I'm always fighting _with_ him, not _for _him. And do I really appreciate my hard-won…misery? _She twisted her engagement ring around her finger, watching the stone sparkle in the puddle of lamplight that spilled on the end table.

When the Floo roared to life, it startled her badly. She bit back a yelp, watching as her book tumbled end over end off of her lap and across the floor, landing with a thwack near the low stone hearth. Harry flopped out of the fireplace in his usual ungainly fashion, and narrowly missed tripping over the fallen tome, before picking it up and handing it back to her.

"I didn't mean to scare you." His hair was a tousled mess over brows crinkled in apology, as he surveyed his best friend, flattened against her sofa cushions, trying to regulate her breathing.

"Believe me, Harry," Hermione said hoarsely, in an attempt at a wry tone. "Nothing you could do to me could make this evening worse."

"Went badly, did it?"

"You could say that." There was a beat of silence, and Harry sat down next to her on the sofa, slinging his arm along the back of it. "Where's Ginny?"

"Dunno." His casual shrug did not fool Hermione in the slightest. "She Flooed out maybe an hour and a half ago. She might have gone to see her mum. She stayed… and listened, and _seemed_ to understand… but she was – I don't know – in shock, I reckon. Said she needed to sort it out… but I'm not sure why she couldn't sort it out with me."

"At least she listened to you…believed you. Ron was convinced that we've been carrying on a torrid affair since the Forest of Dean."

"How did he find out?" Harry said in mock horror. His hand moved over the ridge of her shoulder, back and forth, comforting.

"That's not funny, Harry," Hermione said, nonetheless snorting out a mirthless, tired laugh.

"I know… time and place, right?" There was a fatigued silence. Harry was absently winding the tip of his index finger into the cuff of Hermione's sleeve, while she stared glassily into middle distance. "Listen… Hermione I – I may have decided to bring Eleanor home, but it was never my intent to force my decision on you. If it's going to cause problems… you know I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world, right?"

Hermione felt tears suffuse her eyes and burn her nose.

"_You_ aren't hurting me, Harry. And I think this is the right thing to do. Ron and Ginny can make their own choices. They can either accept her … or …not." She saw Harry shoot a concerned glance down toward her left hand.

"You and Ron – you didn't – ?"

"Not yet," she prophesied glumly, and let her eyes drift shut. "God, I have _such_ a headache. I hate crying."

Harry pulled her closer to him, and kissed the top of her head.

"Why don't you go get into bed? I'll fix you some tea and a pain reliever." She must have looked ready to protest, for Harry added, "Tomorrow's probably not going to be any less stressful."

"You're probably right. Shut up, Harry," she tacked on, when he teased her by looking around like he had just received favor from heaven.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah," she half-grinned at him tiredly, as she shuffled toward her bedroom. "I know."

_You may leave a review on your way out, if you like. -lorien829_


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